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Denny was wowed by her room. Nicer than any hotel suite she’d ever seen. She wondered how much her older sister was paying for it. A bundle no doubt. But she wouldn’t ask and incur her sister’s wrath. And what if Maureen suddenly decided to ask Denny to pay half? No way could Denny afford even a cheap motel room back home. Not that she’d have any need for one.
The porter had already brought her suitcase upstairs and set it on a chest at the foot of a single bed. A fire crackled in the fireplace and brocade fabric adorned the furniture.
“Which bed do you want?” she asked Lydia. Denny was still sizing up the beds, which were equally splendid with their extra pillows. Bed tables supported opulent lamps and what appeared to be original works of art adorned the walls covered with flowered wallpaper.
“I wouldn’t know how to choose.” Lydia looked around. “Everything is so beautiful.”
Denny peered out the window and saw a body of water. She had to admit her sister was right about choosing this hotel. Not that she’d ever say anything to Maureen. Since their teens, they had held a rivalry, starting when Maureen had stolen her boyfriend. No, it was more than that. Maureen had always excelled at everything, whereas Denny had come in second place. She knew she needed to get over it, but she couldn’t.
The door was still ajar. The young woman poked her head in. “Any questions for me before I leave? Remember my name is Molly. I am at your service until midnight.”
Denny surveyed the fireplace with its glowing embers and the split wood sitting in a brass container. “Molly, any way to warm up this room?”
“Sorry. It is unseasonably cold this year. We have a furnace. I’ll turn up the heat.” Molly’s hand moved to the thermostat by the light switch near the door. “If you like, I can add wood to the fire.”
“No, that’s okay. We can handle that.” The last thing Denny needed was to croak from affixation. Things like that happened according to the news, and she did not trust the smoke detector’s battery. Who knew when it was last changed?
Denny was tempted to inquire why Campbells were unpopular on this island but would wait and ask Alec in the morning. Her father had always been proud of his Scottish heritage but had never expanded beyond the details and singing, “The Campbells are coming, hurrah!” He’d had a hearty baritone voice she could hear in her inner ear. For a moment, she was gripped by sadness and regret. She wished she’d spent more time listening to and appreciating him. But no use in thinking about it now. Her heritage would be something to talk about in the morning with Alec, but he seemed to have little interest in her.
She noticed a bookshelf laden with books and travel brochures. Perhaps she would find her answers there, but her eyes were too tired. All she wanted to do was crawl into bed and fall asleep, but she’d read that she would be best served by staying awake a few hours longer to beat jet lag. But not past midnight. Or had she gotten the instructions all mixed up?
Her mind spun back to reality. She thought of her bookstore, The Open Book, as her little baby, but she was on the brink of bankruptcy unless she came home with a whole new plan. That was one reason why she’d agreed to come on this trip. She hoped to find inspiration. She might as well consider it her baby since she doubted that she’d have any children of her own. Unless she adopted, a scenario she’d rehearsed in her mind often.
“I could help you put your clothes away,” Lydia said.
“No, thanks, I can manage.” Denny unzipped her carry-on.
“Really, I don’t mind.”
Denny did not want Lydia to see the contents of her carry-on. She’d tossed in her clothing and knew from Maureen’s descriptions that Lydia was fastidious. A regular little neatnik when it came to house cleaning and ironing. “Go help Amanda and Maureen,” Denny said to her.
Lydia seemed to come to life. “Gut idea.” Snatching up her room key, she spun on her heel and headed out the door.
Denny brought out her cell phone but realized she had no one to call. In the past, she had spoken to her mother every day, but she had not appreciated the woman. Today she would do anything to hear her voice. Other than business acquaintances and her one employee, who were not really friends, who was left? Her friends from high school and college had all moved away. They had husbands and children. The stigma of being single at her age was humongous. Denny realized this was why she worked twelve-hour days. To avoid solitude. She should get herself a pet. She’d always been a dog lover but had decided she wasn’t home enough. Maybe if she owned a dog like Princess, she’d stay at home more. Or bring the dog to work to keep her company.
“Knock, knock.” Maureen spoke as she opened the door. “Let’s go downstairs to the restaurant for supper. Alec said their food is to die for.”
“I hope it doesn’t kill us,” Denny said, and Maureen cringed. “I meant compared to your cooking it will probably be so-so.”
“Let’s not mention that I’m a chef to anyone on the staff.” Maureen’s face showed genuine concern.
“And that you have your own TV show?” Denny was baffled. “In your fans’ eyes, you’re a superstar.”
“Please don’t mention it again on this trip, okay?”
“Whatever.” Denny wondered what had come over her sister who usually adored basking in the spotlight, being the center of attention. She bet that during the meal Maureen Cook, the magnificent chef, would find a way to let the information slip out. Or maybe she figured someone sitting in the dining room would recognize her and ask for her autograph.
“Come as you are,” Maureen said. “You always look beautiful.”
“I don’t feel it,” Denny said in a rare moment of honesty. “Are you sure we shouldn’t dress for supper?”
“Molly said to come as we are. Because the bridge is closed, several large tables of customers have canceled.”
Denny glanced down at her slacks, then decided she didn’t care what she looked like. Her shoulder-length brown hair was probably a mess but who cared? Lydia wasn’t even wearing makeup, but she had that beautiful, always perfect complexion. Denny wondered what her story was and decided she would wait until after supper to find out. Maureen had told her Lydia was Amish. Denny housed a whole section of Amish romance novels in her bookstore; she had read only three and had decided they were fun. Maybe even inspiring. And shoppers had scooped them up as if they were made of gold.
Minutes later Denny, Lydia, Amanda, and Maureen ventured down the staircase. Molly directed them into the dining room. Denny stood for a moment, taking in the spacious area with two dozen tables. The settings were fantastic. Fine china and what Denny assumed was real silver-plated flatware.
The four women were seated at a window table overlooking a body of water. Maureen didn’t divulge that she was a renowned chef. How very odd was all Denny could think. Her older sister usually found a way to mention herself, but Denny kept quiet. Her head spun with fatigue and jet lag. She admonished herself not to try to figure out what time it was at home or fret about her bookstore again. She was here, and she would dive into this time zone. She scanned the extensive menu and decided to pass on the haggis, which she’d read was chopped sheep’s heart, liver, and lungs—yuck. Rather than act like a dumb tourist and remark about its bizarre ingredients she examined the menu again.
“Miss, what may I bring you?” a waiter clad in a white shirt, black slacks, and a tartan bowtie asked Denny.
She lowered her menu. “I’ll try an organic tossed green salad with your house dressing on the side and your locally caught fish fillet with baked organic root vegetables.”
He turned to Lydia, who tipped her head toward Denny. “I’d like the same as she ordered, please.”
“I want a hamburger,” Amanda told the waiter. Apparently, this was not an unusual request because the waiter made no attempt to change her mind. “And french fries,” Amanda said.
“With vinegar or ketchup?” he asked.
Amanda curled her upper lip. “Ketchup.”
“Sis, you amaze me.” Denny spoke directly to Maureen. “You didn’t see anything exotic on the menu you want to use on your TV show?”
“No.” Maureen read the menu again. “Although those pan-fried scallops sound tasty.”
Reality dawned. “Oh, I get it. You’re writing a new cookbook. That’s what this trip is all about.”
Maureen flattened a linen napkin across her lap. “Denny, I might as well tell you now so you quit mentioning it. I may not be going back to the television show ever again.”
“What?” Denny was floored. Her sister must be soaring upward to a spectacular new pinnacle for her to give up her lofty pedestal. “Did you get a better offer?”
“Nothing like that.” Maureen selected a roll from the breadbasket. “Can’t we talk about something else?”
“Are you kidding me?” Denny figured Maureen also must be suffering from jet lag.
First one tear then a stream of tears cascaded down Maureen’s face. Then a river followed. She blubbered like a baby. Long, heaving sobs Denny had not seen since they were children when Maureen was manipulating their parents. Not even at the funeral did Maureen shed one tear. Whereas Denny had cried and cried.
Amanda said, “Mommy, stop crying. Everyone is staring at us.”
“May I be of assistance?” Lydia asked, handing Maureen a napkin.
“I’m fine.” Maureen’s strangled voice betrayed her tortured emotions.
“Okay, Sis, whatever you say.”